Once Upon a Lily Pad
by MapleleafCameo
Summary: When Prince meets frog, well you know the story, sort of. A birthday fic for the lovely MrsNoggin. Crack, silliness fairytales, Doctors in disguise, arrogant princes, enchantments and flies. Rated M for eventually johnlock
1. In Which a Promise is Extracted

**A/N: So this idea came about whist I was on vacation in England. I wrote the opening chapter in jack63kids' backyard (which is very pleasant, except for the amourous doves) and was egged on by the wonderful johnsarmylady:D**

**This is for MrsNoggins' birthday. Happy Birthday my dear friend – it was so lovely to see you:)– I hope you can stand the silliness of it all:)**

**Thanks mattsloved1 for once again putting up with me and my repetitive errors:P**

**I do not own any detectives, bloggers, frogs, princes or magic spells, sadly, but hopefully there is enough magic in my story telling for you to enjoy this little story:)**

1. In Which a Promise is Extracted and a Skull Recovered

There once lived a young, handsome, very arrogant, very rude prince by the name of Sherlock. He lived in a far away kingdom in the heart of the bustling city of London. He was pale of skin, but dark of hair and temperament. Many who saw him remarked on the silvery, pale, translucent, ivory quality of his epidermis and how it contrasted nicely with the raven's wing locks. The glossy curls would glisten and bounce fetchingly in the sunlight and many a maiden, and several lads, would swoon as he passed by. A glance from his laser sharp eyes, a startling amalgam of green and blue toned gemstones (rather sparkly) would stop the simple folk in their tracks and drool would gather at their feet because of his fragile beauty. Despite his handsome features, he could be cruel and cutting. A razor sharp wit was used to reveal secrets large and small of those surrounding him and he did not suffer fools gladly or even somewhat happily. Those he targeted would quiver and shake, his cruel remarks scarring their fragile egos and they would need to seek assistance from the kingdom's therapist, Lady Ella.

Prince Sherlock's older brother, the enigmatic King Mycroft, despaired over his little brother's behavior. He heartily wished a friend would come along to entertain and challenge his brother and to keep him company. Prince Sherlock would shrug prettily and tell the King to sod off. He felt he lived a fairly content existence. He was pleased with his intellect, he disdained company of lesser mortals, and he was not the least bit lonely.

Or so he thought.

One day, Prince Sherlock was strolling through the palace grounds. He had been wandering here and there, trying with difficulty to find something, anything to occupy his mind. His vast intelligence was easily bored and he required a constant stream of new information. These were the days King Mycroft greatly feared as a bored Prince Sherlock could cause great havoc and would often pout and rage, his comely countenance filled with wrath and the likelihood of the destruction of kingdom property was greatly increased. Not to mention the complaints from the denizens of the castle.

As he drifted, Prince Sherlock held his only friend in his hand. When I say friend, I refer to the human skull he had been given as a child. He had named it Billy and it was his constant companion, the only one who would stick with him through thick and thin. He liked Billy because Billy listened with a steady grin, didn't judge and never spoke inexactitudes or gibberish. He was currently being tossed high up into the air. He didn't seem to mind and in fact was smirking in his usual way. The warm sun gleamed on Billy's hairless dome and Prince Sherlock admired the fortitude and stamina of the skull. Not many enjoyed heights the way Billy did or trusted Sherlock enough to let him toss them, thusly. In this instance it would have been within reason not to trust Prince Sherlock, as he really wasn't watching where he was going and tripped over a rock. Billy, who had been on an upward trajectory, arched merrily through the air and with the wind whistling through the holes in his cranium, landed with a SPLOOSH in the small, nearby pond. The pond, situated behind tall grasses and reeds was hidden from Sherlock's view and he did not see Billy land. By the time he stood on his feet again, made an ill attempt to brush at the grass stains on his tighter-than-tight purple silk shirt and muttered imprecations at camouflaged rocks reaching out and grabbing people's ankles, the quiet ripples of Billy's entrance into the pond had dissipated and he could not tell where the skull had gone. Arms crossed, he looked into the murky waters of the pond, the lily pads and their accompanying flowers already covering up the scene of the crime. It was as if Billy had never existed.

"Oh, buggery hell. Billy! Where are you? It is inconceivable that you would leave me this way! Come back! Come back at once!" Prince Sherlock pouted ferociously, kicked at the offending rock and then swore some more as his toe throbbed painfully after encountering the stubbornness of rocks.

At that moment there was a small rustle in the grass nearby and a quiet voice said, "Ahem! Is there something wrong Prince Sherlock?"

Prince Sherlock looked down in the grass at his feet and discovered a small green frog. The frog, handsome in a froggy way, sat looking up at the prince, lips pursed thoughtfully. Prince Sherlock noticed immediately that the frog, in every way, shape and form appeared to be a common frog (Kingdom:_ Animalia, _Phylum:_ Chordata, _Class:_ Amphibia_, Order:_ Anura, _Family:_ Ranidae, _Genus:_ Rana_, Species:_ Rana temporaria_) except for three startling facts. The frog had eyes of a deep, rich navy, which in certain lights looked a deep, rich brown and were calm and fathomless. It had a distinct limp in its right leg and held its left forearm stiffly. And lastly, it was wearing an oatmeal coloured jumper, which appeared rather soggy and sloshy, no doubt from having spend considerable time in the water. He filed these facts away for later perusal, attempting not to be distracted by how fascinating it all was. Apparently the idea of a talking frog did not enter into the equation at all.

Drawing himself up straight and tall, Prince Sherlock replied, "Matter? Matter! That god forsaken pond has swallowed up Billy!"

The frog blinked and looked up at Sherlock, craning his head awkwardly. "Don't you think you should go in after him? You know, before he drowns?" Sherlock could have sworn the frog snickered. Imagine! No one had the audacity to snicker at him. Ever!

He sniffed. "Don't be ridiculous. He's already deceased."

"Well, that's rather hopeful then, isn't it? He'd be good at holding his breath," the frog said, matter of fact.

With a glare, Prince Sherlock huffed, "Billy's a skull."

"Oh," said the frog.

The two stared at each other, neither breaching the silence. An errant fly zoomed by and the frog, tongue shooting out, snapped it up. The remarkable amphibian was beginning to interest Prince Sherlock.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to go and retrieve the skull for me? I am the prince after all and you are one of my subjects, so to speak."

The frog looked at Prince Sherlock, looked back at the pond, looked at Prince Sherlock again and sighed. It turned and hopped lopsidedly toward the water, stuck out its front foot as if to test the temperature. It shuddered, glanced warily at Sherlock once again and shrugged, which isn't easy when one lacks shoulders.

"I guess I could."

"You guess? Good heavens, what is the world coming too, when talking frogs are reluctant to retrieve submerged skulls."

"I guess I could, for a favour." The frog said, its tone now seemingly rather sly and cunning.

"A favour? What on earth could a frog want? You have this nice pond, plenty of flies and other insects. I am sure the lady frogs are rather enamoured of your hideous jumper and charming personality."

"Well," the frog appeared humble and blushed modestly. "They do call me Three Lily Pad Watson."

"Why would they call you that?"

"I, erm, am rather lucky, erm, with the lady…"

"No, no, no! Ew! No, I mean Watson. That's a strange name for a frog."

"I'm not really a frog, see."

"Of course you're not. " One could practically hear the prince's eyes roll.

"No, I'm not. I was a soldier and a doctor on my way home from the war. Something happened to me. I don't quite remember what, exactly. Anyway, I woke up one day in this body. A strange mysterious voice said I had to meet a Prince and become his friend and that's how I could turn back into me, John Watson." Prince Sherlock was certain the frog was deliberately leaving out important details in his story. It was possible that the frog was lying. Intriguing.

"John is hardly a better name for a frog."

"I'm not a frog."

Prince Sherlock waved his hand in the air, "Yes, yes, enchantment, magic, tedious. So what favour do you want in return for fetching Billy?"

The frog hummed a bit in its throat. "Ummm, well, if I am able to retrieve your, er, friend, I was wondering if I could come with you to the palace and be your friend…

"I don't have friends."

"eat off of your golden plate…"

"I don't eat."

"sleep on your feathered bed…"

"I don't sleep and not my area, bestiality."

"Oh, no! God no! No, not gay! So not a gay frog! I meant sleep on your pillow."

"Oh." Prince Sherlock blinked rapidly as he thought about the offer. It would give him some time to study the frog and find out what made it tick. He wasn't sure if he could dissect him though, like he had with other specimens, but shrugging mentally he thought perhaps if the frog proved boring enough he'd be able to do it.

"All right. I will let you come to the palace, eat off of my plate, sleep on my bed, but no touching. And the friendship part will not be happening."

The frog studied Prince Sherlock's face carefully. It nodded as if to say to itself, 'right, I don't quite trust you, but I've nothing to lose.' It seemed to be able to say a lot with one look of its mobile face. It then shrugged again and said. "I guess I'll take my chances. Do I have your word?"

"Yes, fine, get on with it."

With a turn and a splash, the frog entered into the water. The lily pads moved and bumped slowly about once more. Sherlock watched for a bit, but quickly grew bored. He began to occupy his time by cataloguing the various types of plants surrounding the pond.

After an interminable wait, there came the sound of the loud thump of a heavy object and that of a small, wet body, hitting the verge at approximately the same time.

"Here you go," panted the frog, clearly exhausted from the ordeal.

"Billy!" shouted Sherlock, with glee. "You're back! What was it like below in the watery depths? Any treasures down there?"

"Not really," said the frog. "It's just a small pond."

"Not talking to you," said Sherlock over his shoulder and with a flounce he turned to leave. "Come along, frog. Time to head back to the palace." The prince strode away quickly, his long legs carrying him out of sight. The frog could just make out the deep voice of the prince as he continued to chat with his skull.

"But wait!" it called after the rapidly departing figure. "What about me?"

If the prince had stuck around a little longer, he would have heard the frog say, in a resigned sort of way, "Git!"

_To be continued…_


	2. In Which Prince Sherlock Discovers

**A/N: Thanks for the interest in this story - you are very kind:) **

**Thanks mattsloved1 for reading through once again. How do you manage to put up with my whining? :P**

2. In Which Prince Sherlock Discovers Frogs Can Carry a Tune

Prince Sherlock made his way back to the castle, chattering away to Billy the entire trip. He would really have loved to discover what was at the bottom of the pond. With his long legs and the ingenious conversation he was having with the skull, it didn't take long to arrive back at the palace. Before entering, he paused and glanced down at the ground, musing. He felt that there was something missing, that he should have something else with him. The feeling wouldn't go away, so he decided to take a tally. Perhaps he had dropped an item or a piece of clothing. His personal inventory went something like this: 1. Tighter-than-tight Dolce and Gabbana purple silk shirt, check. 2. Painted on, beautifully cut, expensive Spencer Hart suit, emphasizing his rather lush derriere, check. 3. One pair super shiny Yves Saint Laurent shoes he loved to wear because they reflected his image back at him, check. 4. No favourite, wool Belstaff Milford coat and blue Paul Smith scarf today, but that was because it was so warm out, check. 5. Billy the skull, check. Hmmm what could be missing?

If it were really that important, he'd remember. When he was back in his rooms, he would flop down on his comfortably squishy sofa and retreat to his mind fortress and pull it out of one of the many chambers inside. Or not. It really didn't matter.

Quietly slipping inside the palace, he tried, unsuccessfully, to creep past the dining hall. Sadly, his older brother King Mycroft knew his ways and called out his name as he'd begun to sneak up the stairs. He groaned. He really didn't care if it was the highest insult to his brother to ignore his summons to the dining hall or not, but on the other hand he hadn't eaten for a few days and was feeling a bit peckish. He also remembered it was Wednesday and on Wednesday the head cook, chief Housekeeper and all around motherly type, the Lady Hudson, made mince tarts. If he wanted any, he would have to go in to supper, because she refused to bring him any to his room. Also his brother the pig would most likely eat them all, if he were left alone with them.

He entered the dining hall, a cavernous room with an enormous polished table that would easily seat a small nation. His brother was sat at the furthest place from the entrance. There was another place set next to him on his right, waiting for Prince Sherlock. It was too much to hope that he would be allowed to sit at the other end of the table where he wouldn't have to talk to his insufferable brother. He set Billy upon the table next to him and insured he was facing Mycroft.

Servants quickly and silently served the King and his brother a traditional dinner of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and oven-roasted potatoes. Prince Sherlock, finding for a change that he did indeed have an appetite, managed to consume about half of his meal in three bites. King Mycroft looked down his hawkish nose at the display.

"Good evening, Sherlock. How nice of you to join us for dinner."

"Hello, Chubs. I see you're off of the diet again and gained seven pounds. You'll be known as Good King Porky, if you're not careful."

A wintery smile tugged at the corners of King Mycroft's lips. So wintery, snow descended from the ceiling and there was the faint sound of sleigh bells. Tiny urchins wept in the streets.

"We've lost three pounds for your information, not that it is any concern of yours."

"Don't you find it pretentious to use the Royal 'we' all the time? It's only the two of us. No, of course you don't. You enjoy it."

"How amusing you are. We see you have been wandering around with your only friend again. Anything you care to tell us about, you and that thing you insist on carting everywhere?"

"Nope." The p burst out with a nice round, popping sound.

"Down to the pond, then. Hmmm. We notice some mud clinging to the bottoms of the skull and what looks like some fresh water grass only found in this area of London, on the inside of his left socket. Billy went for a swim, did he? How careless."

Prince Sherlock glared at the king.

"We sincerely hope that someday, dear brother, you learn how to take better care of your things. It wouldn't do for you to lose something you truly cared about would it? Something precious."

As Prince Sherlock was about to open his moth and respond with a scathing comment, so blazingly horrible as to pin his older brother to the chair he was sitting in for a week, to tell him he sounded an awful lot like Gollum from Lord of the Rings, there came a loud knocking at the front door. The sound of an underling's feet pattered across the marble floor of the entryway and echoed into the dining hall, followed by the creak of the heavy outer door. Muffled voices were heard and Gregson, chief-door opener, appeared in the dining hall.

"What is it, Gregson?" asked King Mycroft.

"There is a frog to see the Prince, your Majesty." He said this with his usual aplomb as if a frog coming to see the Prince was a matter of course.

The King's eyebrow lifted and he turned to his younger brother. "A frog? Intriguing. Show the amphibian in."

Gregson bowed and left.

The conversation with the frog and the knowledge that _this_ was what had been left behind at the pond came rushing into Prince Sherlock's head. He also remembered the promise he had made. He heaved a great huff and felt very put upon. How on Earth could anyone, a prince in particular, expect to let a frog eat off his plate and sleep on his pillow? Dull.

Gregson returned at a steady pace, politely waiting for the frog to follow him into the room. He was always polite.

"Doctor John Watson, frog, to see Prince Sherlock," announced Gregson as if introducing a frog was a normal everyday occurrence. Gregson was very good at his job.

The frog made his way slowly up to the head of the table. King Mycroft watched with interest. It hadn't escaped his attention that Sherlock was annoyed by the arrival of the frog and he was determined to find out what this was about.

"Well, my good frog, what can we do for you today?"

The frog bowed, a rather courtly gesture for one of low stature. "Your Majesty, I am here because your brother, Prince Sherlock, in exchange for saving his skull Billy, promised I would be allowed to eat off of his plate and sleep on his pillow."

The King's other eyebrow joined the first one, making an attractively matched pair.

"Is this true, Sherlock? Did you promise this frog, Doctor Watson, what was it? That he could eat off of your plate and sleep on your pillow? Because that's extreme, even for you."

"I knew I was forgetting something back at the pond. Yes, I promised."

"You will have to keep your promise, you know, Sherlock? A prince cannot simple make a promise, even to the lowliest, most humble of all of our subjects and simply go back on it. Think of what the papers would say. We shudder to think."

"Yes, Mycroft. I know! I will keep my promise. Frog, why didn't you keep up?"

"A little difficult, your Highness, as my leg makes it tricky to follow you quickly and you have scarily long legs. And please, it's John."

"Odd name for a frog," said the King.

"Not just a frog," the frog answered.

"No," said Prince Sherlock. "Apparently he was once a human and has been transformed into the creature we see before us. He claims to have been a soldier and a doctor and that to break the spell he must eat off of my plate and sleep on my pillow. He also implies the need for us to become friends."

King Mycroft's eyebrows really couldn't get much higher, but they did. "Friends? With you? Please! Oh the bravery of the frog who was once a soldier!"

Prince Sherlock noted that the frog sat there quietly, glaring a little at the King, his chin up a bit and his pride held stiff and resolute. Fascinating. He really wasn't afraid of his brother. Prince Sherlock steepled his hands together and leaned his elbows on the table, peering more closely at the little frog. Coming to a decision that almost but not quite surprised him, he bent down and lifted the frog on to the table.

"Thank you," he piped. Prince Sherlock shrugged and then remembered he had promised to let the frog eat off his plate. He moved it closer to the frog, but pretended disinterest in what it did next. The frog looked at him with what could only be described as gratitude and began to flick his tongue out and pull in small amounts from the remains left from Prince Sherlock's inhaled supper. He didn't eat much. More like he had a taste of everything. With a sense of curiosity that was growing, despite his wish it would not, Prince Sherlock tipped his wine glass toward the frog, a long sticky tongue came out again and delicately slurped up a drop. The frog nodded its thanks and Prince Sherlock, knowing he wasn't going to eat much more, signalled for the servants. The table was cleared quickly and a large dish of mince tarts was placed before the king. With a sad sigh and a mournful mutter of "what, no cake?" King Mycroft helped himself to ten. Prince Sherlock only took two, one of which he held out to the frog. This time the frog ate the entire offering. In a flash his tongue came out, wrapped around the tart and the whole thing disappeared into its rather large mouth. Prince Sherlock found himself staring long and hard at the length of the frog's tongue, his thoughts heading in strange directions. He felt a flush start at the top of his head and sweep down his body; he blinked rapidly and shook his head. He could not have been thinking about what he was thinking about. He must have been wondering if there were experiments it would let him do to see how long and flexible the tongue was. Yes, that was it.

King Mycroft cleared his throat, looked pointedly at the Prince, stood and declared supper over and that he would be adjourning to his study to work on all the great and wonderful things we was doing for the country. After he had left the room, Prince Sherlock whispered to the frog, "More likely he's off to have a nap."

To his surprise the frog giggled. He had never, in all his days, heard a frog giggle. A warm glow began to settle in the area of the prince's chest, around that organ he'd long thought dried up and desiccated. His heart.

With less reluctance and a growing sense of wonder, Prince Sherlock said to the frog, "Well frog, I guess you will need to come with me."

"I really wish you would call me John."

"Why would I call you that?"

"It's my name."

"Oh very well. Seems boring and plain. John. Come along." And he turned to go.

"Wait!"

"What is it now?" Prince Sherlock whined.

The frog heaved a very big sigh, much bigger than its tiny body. "I can't get down off of the table. I think you are going to have to carry me."

"Carry you? Good heavens. What next?" But he did scoop up the frog into his hand and placed him in the inside pocket of his jacket. He'd just have to send it out for dry cleaning. "Now look frog, you'd better not urinate in there."

A muffled voice came from the jacket pocket. "I am quite capable of holding my pee, thank you very much."

"Good." Prince Sherlock left the dining hall and clattered rapidly up the broad and sweeping staircase. There was a strange, _uhn, uhn, uhn_ sound following him up the stairs which he ignored until he reached the top. He paused and looked around wondering what was making that noise. He realised it was the frog. He reached into his pocket and pulled it out. It looked a little green.

"I may not pee in there," it said, "but if you don't stop bouncing me around I may be sick."

Prince Sherlock shot the frog a glare but held it in his hand more carefully. He walked briskly along the corridor and stopped in front of a large black door. Swinging it open he entered a suite of rooms. The frog sat up a little on his hand and looked around. At first the room gave the air of a cosy sitting room with its big squishy looking sofa and chairs and a blazing fire, burning cheerily in the fireplace. On closer inspection, an eclectic collection of art, everything from portraits of well know scientists to bizarre postmodern art. There seemed to be a large number of paintings dedicated to the depiction of skulls. Books and papers were scattered here and there. An assortment of glass cases with odds and ends gleamed in the firelight. Near the window was a music stand and a violin was placed with care on the nearby chair. Sill the room was intriguing and said a lot about the interests of the Prince.

Oddly, Prince Sherlock felt himself holding his breath, as if waiting for John to declare the room a disaster and a health hazard, as his brother regularly did.

"I like it," said the frog.

The warm, glowy feeling blossomed even greater inside his chest. No one ever liked the Prince's rooms, his brother, their parents and especially the servants. They all despaired he would ever tidy and they all wanted him to get rid of his treasures and trinkets.

He carefully set the frog down on a low table and began puttering around the room. He watched the frog out of the corner of his eye, to see what it would do. The frog seemed to settle a bit and continued to take in his surroundings. As the frog became more relaxed, he began to groom itself, his long tongue once more sweeping out, this time cleaning his eyes and sweeping over its body.

Prince Sherlock was feeling too restless to sleep, so, as was his habit on restless nights, he picked up the violin and began to play. He started with one of his favourite pieces, one he had written. Part of him wanted to play to help settle himself, but part of him, the part that felt underappreciated, wanted to show off for the frog. The frog maybe would like to hear a little violin music.

After the third piece of music, he noticed an odd humming sound. Whilst still playing, he searched the room and discovered the noise was coming from the frog. He was humming along with the violin. Enchanted by this discovery, Sherlock leaned in closer and caught the frog's eye. The frog broke out into a grin as Prince Sherlock swept the bow to a rousing finale.

Prince Sherlock stared at the frog and then nodded his head, elegantly, toward the frog.

"I have never played whilst a frog hummed to my music."

John blushed a deep green. "Oh, well, when I was in the army, at night sometimes the lads would sing songs or bring out guitars. On nights we weren't getting bombed or shot at or I wasn't trying to patch kids up."

Prince Sherlock sat down in the chair closest to John, his hands loosely holding the violin and bow across his legs.

"Tell me," he said softly.

With a pause and a blink, John began to tell the Prince of his service in the war for King and Country in the arid land of Afghanistan. Prince Sherlock, who had never been interested in anyone else's story but his own, listened as John spun a tale of hot desert winds and skies filled with a multitude of stars. There were stories of humour and of loss, of terror and of bravery, but all told with a frog's humble perspective and a man's eye for detail.

Finally in the wee small hours of the night, John, a large yawn stretching his mouth open wide, blinked sleepily at Prince Sherlock and said. "I'm sorry, your Highness, but it's been a long exciting day and I am very tired."

Prince Sherlock nodded and picked up John and carried him carefully into his room. He placed him on a plump, goose down pillow, covered with the finest Egyptian cotton. He turned his back and quickly changed into his ratty t-shirt, inside out and backwards, and jammie bottoms and climbed into bed beside John. He blew out the lamp and fell asleep much faster than he usually did.

The moon danced through a sea of clouds, tossed by the wind as the night shifted its way to early morning shone down upon the sleeping prince and the slumbering frog.

At some point in the last tattered remains of the dark, Prince Sherlock woke up, abruptly. He sat up, blinking, wondering what had awoken him. With a start, he realised he had left Billy on the table in the dining hall. It was the first time he had ever forgotten him. He lay back on his bed and turned onto his side, one arm came up under his head as he looked at the sleeping form of John Watson, former Captain, army surgeon, frog at large. His forehead crinkled as he contemplated the sleeping figure on his pillow. His free hand reached out tentatively and as if to stroke John along his spine, but he stopped, wondering why and where that sudden urge had come from. He also wondered at what point in the night, whilst talking with John presumably, he had stopped think of him as an it. Hmmm. What was it about this little frog that intrigued Sherlock so?

_To be continued…_


	3. In Which John Confesses

**A/N: Thanks once again for all the lovely comments:) And thanks to mattsloved1 for her help once again:) She stayed up late for this one!**

**The title refers to a Tumblr post – if anyone cares:P**

**Don't own but if I did…**

3. In Which John Confesses He Likes Cake and Doughnuts

Early morning light sidled into the bedroom of Prince Sherlock. It entered on quiet feet and followed an iridescent path. It gathered a cloak of dust motes, which danced and swirled through the air. Unhurried, it encircled the bed and fell in bright coils across the sleeping prince. The warmth and change in light signalled something inside Prince Sherlock, triggered part of his brain and told him morning had arrived. Lying on his back, he turned away from the light in firm denial, as he snuffled, rubbed his face and finally settled on his side. No one, not even the sun, could tell him when it was time to wake up. As he turned into the soft, snugly pillow, something cold and damp brushed against his face, tickling him. Irritably, he moved his face back and forth and batted his fingers at it but it was still there. Blearily, he opened his eyes. Pressed up against his face was a swath of green and brown, slick and smelling slightly of swamp. A small limb patted him lightly on the face. He blinked again, frowning. The events of the day before streamed into his sleep-addled head and he jerked his head back, grunting. Large, navy blue eyes blinked back at him.

"Morning!" trilled the frog, merrily. "It's a beautiful day! The sun is shining, birds are birding and it's time to get up!"

Prince Sherlock grunted again, a monosyllabic phrase that seemed to convey the message, 'Yes, all right. It's morning. No need to be so sickeningly cheerful. Who cares about the sun and the birds are too noisy for their own good.'

"Oh, now Prince Sherlock, no need to take on so. You will feel much better when you have had breakfast. Come, come, let us arise and greet the day."

In response, the prince rolled over and pulled the covers over his head. He snuggled down further into the warmth of the sheets. He was just drifting off again when the small hand (paw? forefoot?) tugged on the end of the topmost piece of bedding.

"Rise and shine! Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakie! Good morning Starshine! The earth says 'Hello!' It's morning time, it's morning time!" A whole litany of similar phrases rained down upon Prince Sherlock's delicate, royal ears.

"Arrrrgh! Stop it! Stop it this instant. I forbid you to be this cheerful and…and…"

"And?"

"Perky! For god's sake, frog…"

"John."

"John! For god's sake, dial it down! I am not a morning person."

"Really? Shocking that! Hadn't noticed. Now, let's go and get some breakfast! I smell bacon! Hmmm! And perhaps flies, too! Yum, yum, yum!"

"I don't eat!"

But John ignored the crabbiness and hummed a trite and pleasant tune, pulling on his oatmeal jumper. Prince Sherlock didn't remember seeing him take it off the night before and even though he was surly and not quite awake, part of his brain was amazed to see a frog dressing himself. It wasn't something one saw on a day-to-day basis. John's sunny disposition continued, however, much to his irritation, as he jumped and landed with a plop onto the floor. He continued to sing under his breath and the odd word or two reached the prince's ear.

"Good mornin'! hmmm, hmmm. It's great to stay up late! Good mornin'!..."

With a heavy sigh and a curse of 'no one should be that happy,' Prince Sherlock threw back the covers and stood, stretching his back until it cracked. He yawned mightily and rumpled his bed-tossed curls, head bent forward, hands chased the curls back and forth. He scrubbed his eyes and glanced at the floor, where John was watching him. He observed him swallow heavily and John's long, tongue popped out, but this time there was no fly to snap up. He was just licking his lips, slowly

"What?"

"Nothing…it's just…well…with the light on you…never mind."

Prince Sherlock gave John a funny look but dismissed the two lines of inane conversation from his mind. He reached down to the bottom of his bed & slipped on his blue silk housecoat. Following John into the front part of his suite of rooms, his nose was assailed with the indolent aroma of freshly cooked bacon. There were also pancakes and tea.

"Wow," said John, "it's like breakfast in bed but without crumbs in the sheets." He waited with a patient but hopeful look on his face. Prince Sherlock sat down and began to dish up items from different platters onto his plate. He started to eat in a hurried sort of way, as if he didn't really taste the food. While he ate, he sorted through the pile of correspondence stacked beside his plate. The occasional 'Ridiculous' or 'Dull' graced his lips.

"Ahem"

Nothing

"Ahem," a little louder.

Nope

"Prince Sherlock!"

"Yes? Oh, you again. Very well."

Prince Sherlock lifted John and deposited him on the table. He pushed some of the leftover food on his plate toward John. A jar of blackcurrants, which had turned out to be flies, was reopened and he sprinkled some on top.

John hummed in pleasure as he tucked into the pancakes, bacon and flies. Although absorbed with the stack of letters, every now and then Prince Sherlock would glance at the frog. He watched him eat with some amusement. When he realized what he was doing, he gave a sudden start. There seemed to be a swell of something he didn't recognize in the region of his heart as he watched John eat off his plate. He shrugged mentally and tucked it into the back of his mind fortress to think about later.

After a few moments of chewing and the clank of utensils, Prince Sherlock noticed that John was staring wistfully at Sherlock's cup of tea.

"Tea?" asked the prince.

"Umm, probably not a good idea, being an amphibian and all, I'm not sure if hot liquids would be, you know, safe."

A thoughtful look came over Prince Sherlock's face. He tipped his cup carefully and poured a small measure of tea into his saucer. He blew gently on the liquid and then set the saucer down in front of John. John's blue eyes looked at Prince Sherlock and a big grin stretched from one side of his face to the other. Literally. He placed his webbed front feet on the saucer's edge, bent his head and flicked his tongue out toward the saucer, slurping up the tea.

"Thank you! I must say I have really missed tea. Well and jam. I haven't had much jam lately. Also kittens. They're dangerous to me in this state. They just want to chase me and eat me now. I did so live to cuddle kittens." A sigh came from the little frog. "It makes me very angry, not to be able to enjoy the little everyday things. It's like I have this rage inside me holding it all together." He stopped talking when he noticed Prince Sherlock wasn't paying attention.

"Well, that was entirely useless," said Prince Sherlock.

"What was?"

Prince Sherlock looked over at John. "In order to prevent my mind from rotting from disuse and the utter boredom of being a prince, I solve crimes in my spare time. The local constabulary is particularly useless and out of their depths so I took an ad out in the Ye Old Royal Standard. I take the cases no one else will, but lately they have been stupid and boring." He waved a fistful of letters around, crumpled them and threw them onto the floor in disgust. He grabbed another off the pile. "Take this one for example. 'Dear Prince Sherlock, My wife disappears every night after supper. She says she's going out to milk the cows, but there's one problem. We don't have any cows. Help me. I think she's bewitched.' Dolt! Obviously she's having an affair, most likely with the neighbour. Or this, 'Dear Your Highness, I can't find Bluebell anywhere. Please, please, please can you help?'"

"Bluebell?"

"A dog, John!"

"Oh."

"Ah, but there's more! Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous "like a fairy" according to little Kirsty; then the next morning, in place of Bluebell, there was a rabbit! Wearing the dog's collar. Hopeless! This! This is what I am reduced to!" He slouched down into his chair, one leg thrown carelessly over the arm.

A thoughtful look appeared on John's face. "Hmmm. When did this happen?"

Prince Sherlock looked back at the letter. "About four weeks ago. Why?"

"Well, before I was turned into a frog about two weeks ago, I could swear I was surrounded by a blue light. What if whoever did this to me was practicing."

It was as if a candle flickered over Prince Sherlock's head and its light shone down upon him. He sat upright, his plump, petal pink lips, puckered into a perfect 'o' shape. "John! That's brilliant. Quick! We must away!" In a flurry he shoved back his chair and stood, prepared to storm out of the castle.

"Prince Sherlock? You might want to change before you go."

"Oh, yes, of course." He immediately began to shuck off his jammies. A glance at John and he noticed the frog was watching him, but out of the corner of his eye, as if he wasn't really trying to look at Sherlock but couldn't quite help himself. Prince Sherlock cleared his throat. John looked over at him and blushed.

"Sorry, umm, I didn't mean, but…"

"What?"

"I didn't mean to watch. Not that the view isn't pleasant."

Prince Sherlock frowned. "You said you weren't gay?"

"Nope! Nope, not me. Not gay."

"But you…"

"What?"

"Commented…"

"I like cake and doughnuts."

"What is that suppose to mean?"

"Nothing." John said, a tad regretfully. He muttered something else. It sounded an awful lot like he said 'I might be pie', which made absolutely no sense; he supposed being trapped in a frog's body for two weeks would do something to a person.

Normally he didn't care much about privacy. That was for peasants, but he was mindful that John was his guest so he slipped back into the bedroom and changed into a suit similar to the one he wore yesterday. This time he wore a shirt of a deep blue. He frowned at it momentarily. It reminded him of the blue of John's eyes. Well at least they'd match.

As he re-entered the sitting room, he happened to see John's face. John's eyes got impossibly big and a silly grin seemed to flood his face. When he noticed Prince Sherlock was staring back, he turned his head and muttered something about the weather and possibly something else that sounded like 'I think I'd like to play in both streams', which, to be fair, he could see the appeal to a frog. He was also beginning to wonder if he needed to get his hearing checked.

"So where are we going?"

"We are going to see young Kirsty about her dog turned rabbit! You know you may not be the smartest frog. No, scratch that, of course you're the smartest frog…"

"Thanks," said John, drily.

"But you certainly illuminated the possibilities of this one, John. I would never have made the connection if you hadn't hopped into the castle. The only thing that would make this better would be a dead body!"

"Yuck!"

"Oh, come now! You're a soldier and a doctor. You must have seen lots of action."

"True, but that doesn't mean I want to see any more dead bodies."

"It would be fun. Just think, with your expertise of the human body and my phenomenal powers of deduction we would make a formidable team. Criminals would fear us."

"Yeah, the Prince and his frog."

Although Prince Sherlock knew John was being facetious, there was something about hearing that phrase that made his stomach flip.

"Yes, well, we might want to work on a scarier moniker." And for the first time since meeting John, Prince Sherlock felt his mouth move up into a smile and the smile grew into a laugh, joyous and bright. As he laughed, the warm feeling from earlier and from yesterday filled his entire body and in fact became even warmer when John joined in. Until a frog giggles with you, you really can't say you've lived.

Wiping his eyes, he pulled himself together, picked up John carefully and placed him inside an outer pocket this time. He thought perhaps John might like to see where they were going. He glanced down. John leaned out of the pocket, his little digits clinging to the edge, a big smile on his face. He paused in thought. Never in his life had he felt the desire or indeed had wished for the happiness of someone else. Not even Billy. John looked up at Sherlock and his grin became even wider, his obvious pleasure at being taken out and about. Prince Sherlock smiled in return and the fondness he didn't know he held in his heart for the frog grew three times larger.

oOo

Several hours later the happy feeling that had bubbled up inside him had dissipated.

"That was tedious!"

"I suppose," said John, thoughtfully.

"You suppose! She couldn't tell us a thing! And any evidence near where the dog was tied up was destroyed by all the idiots trampling the ground." He threw himself onto the sofa.

"Argh!"

"What? Oh! Sorry, John. I forgot you were in my pocket." He pulled the slightly squashed frog out of his pocket and looked around for somewhere to put him. After a few minutes he settled him on his chest. He placed his hands behind his head to elevate it slightly so he could maintain eye contact with John.

John sighed and leaned on his forearms. "So what now? You didn't find anything to link my situation to the little girl's. What will we do now?"

"We?"

"Oh, um, I'm sorry. I just rather thought…"

"No of course I was just surprised you wanted to? I wasn't sure you were interested?"

"Are you kidding? What you did back there, that was amazing! You knew what everyone had had for breakfast and what part of the country everyone grew up in and all that flashy stuff about who was sleeping with whom? Who would have thought that the wife of the guy who wrote that other letter was the one sleeping around with Kirsty's dad? Even if you didn't find anything to help figure out who might have cursed me, you solved that one. That was brilliant."

"You really think so?" Prince Sherlock said, softly.

"That it was brilliant? Oh god yes! You were absolutely amazing."

"No one's ever said anything like that before."

"Really? No one? Well that's sad, that is. People just need to get to know you, hear and see what you can do. If only there was some way I could write about it and tell people. You are very special, Prince Sherlock."

In that moment, Prince Sherlock would have given anything, his royal title, his fancy clothes and even Billy, to live in the glow of John's praise, that moment of John's complete belief in him. To have someone hold him in such high esteem, to have John say those things. If his eyes grew bright and his heart raced a little, who could blame him?

"John, I don't know what to say. I, no one, that is to say…"

"Shhh, it's okay, Prince Sherlock, you don't have to say anything. I just feel terrible no one has ever said this to you."

"Sherlock, just Sherlock, please. I think you have earned the right."

John beamed at him.

The two continued to stare at each other. Just as it began to feel a bit awkward, there came a knock at the door to the suite.

"Whoo-hoo! Prince Sherlock, dear! I've brought you some tea. You missed lunch again, you silly boy. You know if you don't keep up your strength…" In entered Prince Sherlock's most favourite person in the world, the Lady Hudson, the head cook, Chief Housekeeper and all around motherly type.

"Hello dear," she said to John. "I have heard all about you. I hope Prince Sherlock, dear, can help you sort out this nasty curse of yours." She set the tray she had been carrying on the table, which must have been cleared of breakfast things while they were out. She turned, smiled brightly at the two figures on the couch and she clasped her hands together. "Oh, look at you. What a lovely pair you make. Prince Sherlock, dear, you should introduce us," she scolded fondly.

"Lady Hudson, John, John, Lady Hudson."

"Pleased to meet you," said John, "but you should know, we aren't a couple."

"Why ever not? I mean once Prince Sherlock, dear, figures out this curse of yours and turns you back to you, I am sure you can move right in. There's plenty of room and it's so nice for Prince Sherlock, dear, to have a friend. And Prince Sherlock, dear, you could do so much worse than a doctor. He seems like a handsome frog, doesn't he? You know, I was saying the other day to my friend, the Lady Turner…"

Standing abruptly, Prince Sherlock carefully settled John on the table next to the tea tray and gently ushered Lady Hudson out of the door.

"Yes, thank you, Lady Hudson, don't you think you'd better run back down to the kitchen and make sure the soup isn't burning?" He shut the door behind her.

"Sorry about that."

"No, it's all right. I mean, I guess I don't really mind."

"Even though you aren't gay?" He heard the bitterness seep into his tone, bitterness he didn't even know he had inside. Until he'd met John he hadn't been interested in pursuing anything of a romantic nature. Everyone was too slow and too dull. But John, John was magical and bright and full of sunshine and goodness and he liked tea. Prince Sherlock hadn't even sensed the need. He was perfectly happy being celibate and felt that he was above such trivial urges. It was bad enough that his body required food and rest, not to mention having to take time out to use the privy, but sex, sex had never entered his thoughts, until he meet John. It was a little difficult to think that way about John, because he was after all a frog. But what if John were turned back into a human? Oh, that was ridiculous. John wasn't gay.

"Sherlock?"

He came back to his surroundings.

"Yes?"

"I've been trying to get your attention. Where on earth did you go just know?"

"Oh, umm, just thinking."

"I've been thinking too, and there's something I want to tell you."

"Oh?"

"It's that, I'm not gay…per se."

Something fierce and heavy swooped into his chest. Was it hope? Was this what hope felt like? He didn't want to think about it. What if he was wrong? "What's that suppose to mean?"

"Most people come in different packages. Some people are particular about which package they open, but me, not so much. I'm delighted to say and to share with you that I have the facility to reach down someone's pants and be totally satisfied with whatever I find."

"Come again?"

"Well, it might be too soon for that. We just met yesterday?"

"What?"

"Sherlock…I like you."

"You like me?"

John sighed. "Yes. I mean no, I mean, I _like_ you."

"So you…like me?'

"Yes"

"If you were human, you'd want to…?"

"Do you? Oh most definitely. Do you have any idea how completely beautiful you are? Good lord Sherlock. You are the most attractive person I have ever met. You really need to close your mouth. It's flopping open, rather like a fish."

"But I don't understand. You said you weren't gay."

"I'm not gay. I like both women and men. I'm bi. Bisexual."

"Oh that makes so much more sense. I thought you said you were pie."

John blinked at him and then giggled once again. Sherlock thought he would melt with the sound. If it were in his power, he would try to make John giggle every day.

"So you like me."

"Yes."

"Even when my mouth is open?"

"Especially when your mouth is open!" Said John, archly.

A blush flowed over his skin and Sherlock stammered a bit. John grinned at him and no one, no one had ever looked at Sherlock the way John was looking at him. As if he were the most wonderful, most important, singularly astonishing person in the world.

"Come here, Sherlock."

Sherlock found he was stepping closer to the table and he knelt on the floor so his face was on the same level as John's. He leaned in closer and John lifted up his forearm to touch Sherlock's face.

"You are so perfect, so beautiful. Has anyone told you? You could break my heart, you know."

It seemed as if time stopped and they were the only two people on the Earth. Sherlock leaned closer. His eyes closed and just as he was about to plant one upon John's lips the door to his room was flung open.

_To be continued… _


End file.
